Nothing in my earthquake survival box could prepare me for this. When my great-grandmother had described the 1906 earthquake as “hell on earth,” I hadn’t taken it literally, but maybe I should have.

Now, I’m a simple man. I don’t crave excitement. I stay away from the unexpected. I do my best to avoid any unusual situations -- to a point where I’ve been called boring by multiple people, including my mother and my children.

I keep an earthquake survival box in my bedroom, and another one in my car. I didn’t want to at first -- I think it’s inviting excitement -- but my eldest daughter and her husband bought them for me for my birthday. I knew she would look for them when she next came to visit me, and I was right. So there they have sat, waiting to be used. Never being used. Until today, of course.

I was in my kitchen, chopping potatoes, when everything started to shake. The knife slipped and I sliced my finger a bit, which wasn’t ideal. But I stumbled to the doorway and braced myself (are we supposed to stand in doorways? I can’t keep track). A minute or so later, it was over. Thank god my wife and kids were in Ohio for a wedding (a themed wedding -- too exciting for me). I should call them, if my phone could get a signal.

It wasn’t a huge earthquake -- my bookshelf collapsed and there was some heavy damage in the building next door -- but I guess it had happened in exactly the right spot, because just as I was grabbing the survival kit from under my bed, I heard the first screams. I ran to the window and looked out.

From what I know about earthquakes, they are destructive. Things collapse, people are crushed, tsunamis are sparked. But those are all relatively natural things. Horrible things, but plausible.

This is not plausible.

“This” is in the center of my street. “This” is leaking deep red smoke (smoke isn’t supposed to be red). “This” is echoing with peals of horrible, shrill, malevolent cackles.

I am transfixed by horror. Earthquakes causing huge cracks in the street isn’t unheard of (in fact, it’s quite normal). Horned demons riding enormous flaming geese erupting from the huge cracks in the street is not what I would call normal.

It isn’t until I’ve been staring (horrified) at the...whatever they are...that I notice that one of them is holding a human child on their lap. Like I said, I am a simple man. I stay away from the unexpected. But I’m also a father, and I’ll be damned (pun intended) if I’m going to let hell riders kidnap a child.

I take the steps two at a time. I rarely take the steps, but the elevator isn’t working. This is difficult. My lungs are burning.

Staggering out into the street, I point directly at the rider with the child (Also: why the hell are they on geese? Am I dead? Am I high without realizing it? I was only high once and it was not like this).

“Hey!” I call. I don’t sound as authoritarian as I’d like. The rider turns.

“Hey!” they say, waving.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but a friendly wave was not it.

“Um,” I begin. “Are you kidnapping that child?”

The rider laughs. “No, I’m returning her home! I don’t need to kidnap a child, I’ve got 6000 of my own!”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Do you know what street this is?”

“Mt. Pleasant.”

The rider turns to the little kid.

“Does that sound familiar?”

The kid nods, pointing up the road.

“Many thanks, human!” the rider says, taking off.

The other riders are circling around the crack, the geese honking loudly. And evilly.

“Excuse me,” I call to them. “What the hell is going on here? Who are you?”

“What the hell indeed!” one of them says. “No worries, human. We’re just waiting for the entrance to cool off until we go home.”

I peer at the crack. Decidedly not-normal.

“What exactly is that?” I ask.

“Oh, just the gates of hell.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling faint all of a sudden. “And the geese?”

“All geese go to hell.”

This is the only logical part of this entire situation.

“All right, then,” I say. “Carry on.”

I’m feeling a bit dizzy. I think I’ll call my wife. Or sit down. Or both.